


we rise and we fall and we break

by daisylincs



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: (sort of), AOS Angst War 2020, Angst, Catharsis, Character Study, Emotional, Gen, Heavy Angst, Loss, Loss of Parental Figure, MayDaisy feels, MayDaisy-centric, Melinda May Feels, Melinda May-centric, Relationship Study, Songfic, angst war, introspective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:07:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27432493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daisylincs/pseuds/daisylincs
Summary: When a standard, easy mission goes very wrong, May pays the ultimate price for the woman who is basically her daughter.
Relationships: Melinda May & Skye | Daisy Johnson
Comments: 9
Kudos: 41
Collections: Angst War 2020





	we rise and we fall and we break

**Author's Note:**

> [redacted]

_if there's a reason i'm still alive_  
---  
_when so many have died_  
_then i'm willing to wait for it_  
_i'm willing to wait for it_  
  
  


Melinda May's entire life had been a study in waiting, both to her benefit and to her downfall, and both in times where she did wait and times where she didn't. 

Her earliest memory of the phrase, "wait, Melinda" was when she was seven years old and bouncing excitedly up and down at the edge of an ice rink. Her father had gently put an arm around her, holding her back from the door so a group of senior skaters could pass through, and whispered the words into her hair. 

The next time she vividly remembered hearing the words, she had been twelve, striking enthusiastically at a punching bag. Coming up behind her, her sensei had carefully corrected her stance, lifting her arms and bringing her elbows closer in towards her body. 

"Wait, Melinda," he had said. "Do not rush the moment. Strike when the time is right." 

She had kept that advice very close to her heart. 

And as the years had passed, for every time she _had_ waited, there were times when she _hadn't._

Joining SHIELD, for example. Fresh out of university and with two black belts already under her name, joining an organisation to help protect the world had sounded like the new greatest idea. 

Should she have waited? Maybe, maybe. 

Then there was her marriage to Andrew. She had never expected that she would get on so well together, that they would _work._ So when he had asked if she wanted to elope, she had said yes without giving it a second thought. 

Should she have waited? Maybe, maybe. 

And likewise, to balance everything out, there were times where she _had_ waited when she probably shouldn't have. 

All the years in a SHIELD cubicle, mindlessly stamping paperwork and binding legislation. 

_"Wait, Melinda."_

Oh, how she had waited then.

And her relationship with Coulson - how long had she known she loved him, but done nothing about it? Had that been a terrible mistake? Could they have had years and years of golden laughter and happiness, like those few blessed days in Tahiti? 

She would never know. 

But one way or another, waiting or not waiting, this was how she had gotten to where she was now.

And would she change that if given the chance? 

Looking at Daisy's face in front of her, at the way her eyes shone and her posture was straight and confident, Melinda thought… no. No, she wouldn't change anything. 

"Come _on,_ May," Daisy was saying in her best wheedling voice. "It'll be _one_ mission, and it'll be fun! You could do something like this in your sleep." 

"Maybe I _could,"_ Melinda responded dryly. "And I know you don't like to hear it, but I'm not as young as I used to be. I can't just run into the field and -" 

But Daisy was already scoffing, her blond curls dancing as she shook her head. "Please, you don't look a day over forty-five, and you could still whip my ass in training any day." 

Melinda wasn't so sure of that, not anymore. Sure, she could still hold her own… but it had been many years of holding her own, and that kind of thing took a toll on the body. 

_"Besides,"_ Daisy added when Melinda still didn't look convinced, "this mission is _ridiculously_ easy. Literally just retrieve a briefcase from a single bad guy! You could do that in your _sleep._ It'll be a field trip for the two of us. And, um," she bit her lip, looking suddenly and surprisingly vulnerable, "I've really missed working with you." 

Melinda softened immediately. She had missed Daisy, too. She liked her new job at the Academy, and it suited her, but it wasn't the _same._

Besides, if this mission really was as easy as Daisy said, what harm could it do? 

_Wait, Melinda,_ said her mind, warningly. 

She didn't. 

"Let's go," she told Daisy, shooting the girl who was her almost-daughter an affectionate smile. 

And go they did - straight into a trap. 

Melinda didn't know how it had happened, how on _earth_ word had gotten out - but somehow, their run-of-the-mill bad guy had heard he was dealing with Quake, and had brought out half of the US army to face her, apparently. 

That in itself wouldn't be a problem, and she could tell Daisy thought so. They had faced down worse than a couple of guns before, even if they _were_ really big guns - after all, guns had never been a problem for Daisy. 

But Melinda could sense something was different here, sense it in an uncomfortable prickle at the back of her neck as her powers tried to tell her something. 

Something was _wrong._

She closed her eyes, trying to trace the feeling of _wrongness_ until she found its source, found what was making the little hairs on the back of her hair rise up - 

And there if was. A cold, sharp and deadly intent - the intent to _kill._

And it was coming from directly _behind_ Daisy. 

In a sudden spike of cold fear, Melinda realised that the group of army guns were just a diversion. Whoever had set this up _knew_ that Daisy would be able to deal with all of these men. And, indeed, she was already holding out a hand to quake them, sending the lot of them flying backwards into the side of a building a good ten fifteen away. 

Melinda tried to shout out a warning, but it was far too late. She could _feel_ it, feel the ice-cold, deadly satisfaction as her masked assassin pulled the trigger on his gun, his aim straight and sure for Daisy's back. 

There wasn't any _time._ There wasn't anything she could _do._

If she had been Daisy, or if she had just been able to warn Daisy in time that she could have turned around, she could have quaked the bullet and ended this right now. 

But there _just hadn't been time._

There was only one thing she could possibly do now. 

_"Wait, Melinda."_

That phrase had wormed its way into her mind, sank into places so deep that she couldn't even begin to shine a light there. That phrase had influenced her every decision, for years upon years upon _years_. 

But when she sensed that bullet coming, Melinda didn't wait. Not for a second. 

  


_death doesn't discriminate_  
---  
_between the sinners and the saints_  
_it takes and it takes and it takes_  
  
  


Melinda fell slowly, the world darkening at the edges as pain exploded in the middle of her back. 

The ragged pavement cut into her arms, her sides, her _back,_ but she hardly even noticed the pain. She had made the leap. That was all that mattered. 

Daisy whirled around, and the world blurred out of focus as she released an anguished scream, a pulse of pure energy exploding from her body and tearing into the surrounding buildings. 

Dimly, Melinda saw the masked assassin go flying off his perch, hitting the wall behind him hard and not getting up again. 

_Good,_ she thought, or tried to think through the haze of red clouding her brain. 

Daisy was crouching next to her, gripping her shoulders and shaking frantically, trying desperately to get Melinda to stay with her. Her mouth was forming tearful words, but Melinda couldn't hear them. 

Blood was rushing in her ears and in her head, and she felt light-headed from the pain, made worse by how long it had been since she had gotten shot. 

As though from very far away, she could hear Daisy sobbing, begging Melinda to stay with her. 

"It's alright," Melinda tried to say to her, but her mouth wouldn't form the words. 

Daisy was on her feet now, pacing as she spoke rapidly, fiercely into her comms, the tears on her cheeks, diamond-bright in Melinda's dimming vision. 

Even if she hadn't had her powers, Melinda would have been able to feel the waves and waves of grief rolling off her. Daisy's expression was a haunting mixture of crippling grief and crushing guilt, and her eyes were hard and steely as she snarled into the comms. 

Melinda almost wanted to laugh at how much like _her_ Daisy looked just then, but she tasted blood on her lips when she so much as tried for a smile. 

Beneath her, the ground gave a tiny rumble as Daisy's voice rose, her gestures becoming sharper and more frustrated. A word here and there pierced the pain-induced fog surrounding Melinda - "don't" and _"understand"_ and "urgent!" 

Daisy… She was taking this too hard, pushing for a miracle that wasn't going to come. Not this time. She wasn't Coulson. 

And she needed… she needed to tell her it was going to be okay. 

Using every ounce of strength she has in her, Melinda raised her hand, dropping it back to the sidewalk almost immediately, black spots swimming in her vision. 

But it had been enough. Daisy was at her side in an instant, her hands shaking as she lifted Melinda's head onto her lap and brushed back her hair. Her lips formed the words, "May, May," and then, as she squeezed her eyes shut for an agonised second, a single tear slipping past her lashes and splashing onto Melinda's jacket, she mouthed something else, something softer, something with an _o_ sound after the m, and another m after that --

Even though her breathing was coming in ragged gasps, every inhale and exhale a struggle, Melinda's breathing caught. Had… had Daisy really just said what she thought she had?

Her mind flashed through the years they had known each other - from the young girl with her bright eyes and passion for hacktivism and doing the right thing, the girl who despite Melinda's best efforts worked her way into her heart and started to melt the ice there; the girl who had started to train with her, eyes cool and determined, never giving up no matter how hard she fell; the girl with a superpower buzzing in her veins, terrified and struggling, but nonetheless trusting Melinda to calm her down and help her; the girl who had become a woman and confident in herself and her powers, a leader to a team, even; the woman who had been broken by the weight of her losses and had run away as far and fast as she could, and nonetheless let Melinda's words pull her back; and lastly to the woman she was now, shaped by her years of pain and hurt but also by the love and the _family_ she had found. 

The word that Daisy had whispered… she had been right. That _was_ the only word to describe what they were to each other. 

Never once had either of them said it, or tried to say it, but they had both felt it with an irrevocable certainty. 

And if they had both felt it, then… then that was good enough. _More_ than good enough - _so_ much more than good enough. That was everything. 

And she needed… she needed to make sure Daisy knew that. 

With a supreme effort, she stretched her fingers to brush just lightly against Daisy's leg, her senses reeling at the sudden onslaught of overpowering emotion. 

Daisy glanced down at the featherlight touch, her eyes filling with tears at the sight of Melinda's fingers just-just brushing her leg. Her fingers were shaking, but she reached down to press her palm against Melinda's, the brush of their skin painfully gentle and tender. 

Melinda shifted her fingers so they were better aligned with Daisy's, gritting her teeth against the pain, and turned all her focus to the thrum of emotions she could feel surging through the younger woman. 

Holding tightly onto Daisy's hand, she closed her eyes and _felt._

  


_dad always told me, don't you cry when you're down_  
---  
_but mum, there's a tear every time that i blink_  
  
  


This couldn't be happening. This could _not_ be happening. This couldn't be… _May_. It was never supposed to be May. 

May… May was supposed to be there forever! May was never supposed to… _go,_ it was just _wrong!_ Unthinkable. 

May was supposed to always be _there,_ just a phone call away for when the nightmares rushed up and flooded her. May was supposed to always answer, and speak soothingly to her huddled there in the dark against the wall, until her breathing steadied and her heartbeat calmed and she felt like _herself_ again. 

May was supposed to always tell the funniest jokes, but tell them in such a deadpan tone, and to so few people that if you hadn't personally heard them, you would never believe it. May was supposed to prank everyone on the base, but keep her face so perfectly blank that no-one would ever dream it was her. May was supposed to bring her coffee and cookies no matter how much she personally hated them, just to brighten her day and see her smile.

May was supposed to always be there for her to train with, to learn and to release tension and to calm her down like nothing else could. May was supposed to scold her for forgetting five a.m. t'ai chi, and May was supposed to always shake her head and correct her form. May was supposed to always help her, and teach her, and _improve_ her. 

May was supposed to always be her rock, the one person she could turn to no matter what. May was supposed to be the one she could _always_ rely on. 

So how… how could this be happening? 

How was she supposed to process this? How _could_ she? How could she _possibly_ try to rationalise the thought of a loss like this; a loss of someone who meant so much more to her than she had ever been able to say, someone who she had never even dreamed she _could_ lose? 

The thought of a world without May in was just so _bleak,_ so _empty,_ and so utterly, utterly wrong. 

She couldn't take it. She _could not_ take it. How could she even _begin_ to imagine a world like that? 

How could she even live with herself?

  


_oh i'm in pieces, it's tearing me up_  
---  
_but I know_  
_a heart that's broke_  
_is a heart that's been loved_  
  
  


This was all her fault. That was the worst part of all of this, this crazy, unthinkable situation - it was _her_ fault; hers, Daisy Johnson's. 

She, Daisy, had dragged May into this. May hadn't wanted to come, but Daisy had persuaded her, and… 

May had to hate her. May had to hate her so, so much. How could she even stand to _look_ at her? 

Daisy could hardly bear the thought of looking at _herself -_ she, after all, was the person who was to blame for this. 

Who was she to think she could just drag May into the field at a whim? Who was she to say May had been wrong, and they should go? 

Why hadn't she _listened?_

If she had just _listened,_ none of this would have happened. May would still be at the Academy, hale and hearty and _happy._

Why could she never _listen?_

What screwed-up, twisted part of her had made it so that she could never listen when she desperately needed to? What part of her was so irreparably _broken_ that no matter what she did, she would end up breaking everything around her, too? 

Because she _did._ It was her, it was her, it was _her -_ she was the problem, and she was to blame. She destroyed everything she came close to. 

Today was just another example of that. Because if it hadn't been for _her,_ May would still be happy and whole and _healthy._

She knew May wouldn't be wanting her to think like this, but it was all true. She deserved to hate herself, and to be hated. 

She was to blame for _everything._

  


_you were an angel in the shape of my mum_  
---  
_when i fell down you'd be there holding me up_  
_spread your wings as you go_  
  
  


May was the one person who had always been there for her. Always. Without fail. 

Even back in the days of the Bus - when Skye had wanted nothing more than to find her parents, May had helped. Unwillingly at first, and coldly, but she had _helped_. Skye had asked, and May had provided. May had helped. 

She still remembered distinctly the little warm glow she had felt even back then; the knowledge that someone, even though it was very grudging, had actually _cared._

When she had been at her most terrified, when she hadn't known what was happening to her or how to control it, May had been there, helping her and believing her and _trusting_ her. 

And amidst all the terror and fear and the pain in her arms, she remembered feeling intensely grateful, feeling like she wanted to launch herself onto May and sob into her leather jacket, and it would all be okay. 

When she had her very mind taken away from her, and lost the person she was _just_ beginning to care about, she had fled and pushed everyone away as far as she could. But May wouldn't _let_ herself be pushed away, and she had said as much to Daisy in no uncertain terms until she was _sure she would stay._

She remembered how she had raged against it, how her brain had been screaming no no _no no no_ because staying meant more people to lose - but she also remembered the feeling of being so pathetically grateful and comforted by May's very presence, the feeling that if May could just hold her very close, she'd be safe from all the hurt and the pain. May would help her. May _always_ helped her. 

And then when she had been betrayed by her own best friend, by the man she considered her _brother,_ May had been there, holding a blood-soaked bandage to her neck and then holding _Daisy,_ regardless of the blood and tears that spilled onto her jacket. 

May had stood by her, quiet but sure, even as the rest of the team had told her it had been the right thing. May hadn't said anything, but just the knowledge that she was there, that she _understood?_ That had been enough.

When they had both lost the most important man in their lives, they had been there for each other, holding each other through floods of tears every night and drawing the only comfort they possibly could from each other. 

It wasn't much, but the comfort was there. May was the comfort. May was the strength. May was the support. 

No matter what, May was the comfort and the strength and the support. May was the one person who had already been there for her.

May was the one person who had always been there, and Daisy had failed her. 

Daisy had dragged her into the field when she hadn’t wanted to go, when she had _said_ she didn’t want to go, and look where it had gotten her.

She was going to lose May, and it was all going to be her fault.

She was going to lose _May…_

How would she… how would she even _begin_ to live? How would she breathe? How would she carry herself every day knowing that the person she had come to rely on for _everything_ just… wasn't there? 

How could she hold May's hand and tell her goodbye? How could she lose this bond, this bond that was at the very core of who she had built herself up to be? 

How was she supposed to go on? 

How was she supposed to go on, knowing she would lose everything, and it would be _her fault?_

It was all just too much, and Daisy wanted to run, run far and hard until the pain and guilt and _loss_ couldn’t find her, run away away _away…_

  


_and i hope that i see the world as you did_  
---  
_'cause i know_  
_a life with love_  
_is a life that's been lived_  
  
  


… but she couldn’t do that, could she? 

No matter how desperately she wanted to get away, she _could not_ do that. She couldn’t leave May alone; not like this. Never like this. Never May. 

May, who would protect the people she cared about till her dying breath. May, who would wear a cool, detached facade but actually care so deeply. May, who would laugh and pull practical jokes when she thought no-one was watching. May, who would make a thoughtful and kind gesture when she saw you were down. May, who would tell you exactly what you needed to hear, whether you wanted that or not. 

May, who had made her _everything_ she was.

Ever since she had met May, Daisy had looked up to her, had aspired to be like her.

Had she ever told May that? 

She thought, her mind racing over nine years of time spent together, and memories shared, both good and bad, and she found… nothing.

She hadn’t. She had had all the time she could possibly have wanted, but she _hadn’t_. She hadn’t told her.

May had been the person who had been there for her the most, and the person she had thanked the least. 

Why? Why on earth had she never _told May,_ never said the words that were always on the tip of her tongue but never further?

Why had she never even tried?

She had wanted to tell her so badly, but she had always stopped, because _what if this went wrong_ and _what if May didn’t feel the same way_ and _what if she destroyed everything?_

But she had already destroyed everything, hadn’t she? 

What could possibly be worse than knowing she had all these things she had always wanted to tell May, and now she _couldn’t_ , and it was _her fault -_

Why had she failed May this badly, in so many ways?

And then, as the spirals of despair and guilt and loss circled round and round in endless concentric tracks… 

… she could hear May’s voice in her mind.

  


_you were an angel in the shape of my mum_  
---  
_you got to see the person i have become_  
_spread your wings, and i know_  
_that when god takes you back_  
_he'll say_  
_hallelujah, you're home_  
  
  


“Stop that,” said May’s voice, as cool and as clear in her head as though she was speaking the words right now, as though she wasn’t just a memory.

Daisy wanted to cry, cry and fling herself onto May and be held in her warm arms until it was all okay, until it all went away -

But there was no May, was there? This wasn’t May. This wasn’t May, because May was dying, and it was _her fault._

 _“Stop_ that,” said the voice in her head again, with a touch of anger behind it now, just like the real May would have.

And just like she would if the real May was speaking to her, Daisy quieted, and listened.

“Life isn’t fair,” said May’s voice in her memory. “That’s just a fact. And you can’t blame yourself for that unfairness. You’ll destroy yourself.”

Daisy knew these words. She knew when May had said them to her the first time, and when they had whispered them to each other - but her breath still caught at the sound of them, and she listened as intently as she had that first time, curled up in her bunk with the bitter burn of a shot of Russian vodka still lingering in her mouth.

“There are always times when we lose people,” May had said then, and May’s memory said now. “And it never stops hurting. It never gets any easier.”

“But you can’t let it destroy you. Because if you let it destroy you, you let it destroy them.”

May paused, and Daisy could just see the look on her face as she turned to make eye-contact with the younger version of herself.

“Will you ever forget them?” she had asked. 

“No,” Daisy had said then, her gaze shining with tears but resolute. “Never.” 

And - _no, never,_ thought Daisy now. 

“If you still remember them - if you still love them - they are _not_ gone,” May said, and Daisy felt the words like an electric jolt, just like she had then. “That’s why you _can’t_ let this destroy you. You have to keep going, so they keep going through you.”

She had paused for a breath, her eyes dark with grief but fiercely passionate. “They’re never really gone. Not as long as we remember them. Not as long as we still love them.” 

“Not as long as we still love them,” Daisy whispered - the same words May had said to her after Bobbi and Hunter had left, the same words they had repeated to each other in the long, tear-filled nights after Coulson’s death. 

_They’re never really gone. Not as long as we remember them. Not as long as we still love them._

Would Daisy ever stop loving May? 

Not for as long as she lived. She knew that with an unshakable, indisputable certainty. 

In her memory, May squeezed her hand, not saying any words - but just like she had then, Daisy understood perfectly what her SO meant.

And that was when she knew.

Of _course_ May had felt the same things for her as she had over the years. Of course she had. It was there in every quiet, reassuring touch, in every traded glance and smirk, in every tiny release of tension when they saw the other enter a room.

It had never been in words, and maybe Daisy would never forgive herself for that, would never stop regretting that she had never made _sure_ May knew just how much she meant to her.

But she wouldn’t let this destroy her. She wouldn’t. 

She would keep going, because May had told her to.

_This is the last day._

But it wouldn’t be. Melinda May would never really be gone.

_This is the day it all ends._

But it wouldn’t be. Because her love for Melinda May… that was never-ending. 

  


_love doesn't discriminate_  
---  
_between the sinners and the saints_  
_it takes and it takes and it takes_  
  
  


Melinda's eyes flew open.

 _"Daisy,"_ she said, and by all accounts she should not even have been able to _whisper,_ let alone speak, but goddammit if she wasn't going to make herself. 

Daisy was still holding her hand, and she glanced up at the sound of Melinda’s voice, her tear-flooded eyes widening with shock and disbelief.

Speaking hurt more than anything had ever hurt in her life, but Melinda gritted her teeth and made herself speak nonetheless. “You,” she said, and closed her eyes to gasp for breath, feeling like a thousand red-hot needles were stabbing into her skin and back.

“You,” she gritted out, fighting past the pain and tightening her grip on Daisy’s hand. “Were right. About everything.”

She coughed, and even through the swimming blackness at the edges of her vision, she saw that there was blood there, stark against the grey of the paving.

“Don’t,” she said, fighting for a breath, “blame. Yourself. You’re right. I don’t… want that.”

Daisy was shaking her head, tears spilling down her cheeks and splashing onto their joined hands. “I don’t… I don’t understand,” she whispered, her voice catching on the words.

Melinda shook her head, trying to convey that it didn’t matter, it wasn’t important. 

“All,” she said, her grip on Daisy’s hand desperately tight, “that matters… is you. Were right.”

She coughed again, and her vision tunneled, dangerously close to disappearing entirely into blackness.

But Melinda forced it away, _forced_ herself to stay conscious and say what she needed to say. 

“Felt it,” she said, her body hot and feverish from the sheer amount of _pain_ she was in, drops of sweat standing out on her brow. But she pushed past it. “All of it.” 

And with more strength than she had ever dreamed she had, she lifted her hand and pressed it against Daisy’s cheek. “My daughter,” she breathed.

Daisy’s eyes were wide, her shock momentarily freezing the tears on her face, and for a split-second there was a flash of pure _joy_ in her gaze, ecstatic and deep 

Melinda’s eyes fluttered shut, and she thought that if that was the last thing she saw, she would die happy.

The world was spiralling even through her closed eyes, fading in and out like the flashes of sun through the thick mist that sometimes fell over the Lighthouse. Dimly, as though from very far away, she could hear Daisy speaking.

Her mind reached for the sound of that voice, clinging to it and holding tightly to it, until her world sharpened in a way that she knew instinctively would be the last time. 

"Mom," Daisy was saying; sobbing, repeating the word as though she couldn't say it enough. "Mom, Mom, Mom. I love you so much." 

And Melinda physically couldn't say the words back, couldn't make her lips move and tell her how much she agreed, how _much_ she treasured every moment she had spent with Daisy...

But could words have expressed such a thing, anyway? 

She tightened her fingers around Daisy's hand and imagined opening every gate she had, imagined letting every _wait, Melinda_ fly away like a leaf on the wind. 

She thought to Daisy, and she _felt_ to Daisy, every last shred of the love she had thought and felt throughout the years; let it flow from her to Daisy in an unstoppable stream - unrelenting, unyielding, ever-protecting, and ever-remaining. 

She heard a sharp intake of breath, and she knew Daisy had felt it. 

And if Melinda May's entire life had been a study in waiting - if it had all, from the first falls on cold, hard ice to the long years in that tiny cubicle to the tears in a Tahiti sunset, been leading up to this point… 

… then it had all been worth it. 

_and if there's a reason i'm still alive_  
---  
_when so many have died_  
_then i'm willing to wait for it_  
__  
_i'm willing to --_


End file.
